


Thicker Then Blood

by w6rship



Series: Self-Bound [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alluka Zoldyck Centric, Angst, Eating Disorders, Gen, Implied Religious Conflict, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Misogyny, Internalized Transphobia, Out of Character, Reading, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, The Zoldyck Family - Freeform, Torture, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w6rship/pseuds/w6rship
Summary: If blood was thicker then water,why was the cool liquid choking her? If blood was thicker, why was the water so heavy? If blood was thicker, why was the water rattling in her lungs like boulders thundering down a tunnel? Miss Kikyou was very upset. She screamed and wailed and the water didn’t stop and alluka was quickly loosing color around her upper half. Angelic, beautifully crafted, killua. And she was nothing like him. Heavenly, perfect, disciplined zoldycks that she shared the same blood of, but she was so different.
Series: Self-Bound [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074890
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Thicker Then Blood

**Author's Note:**

> lowercase intended

All my other works are currently on hiatus, but have this. I’ve had like 0 motivation and yeah wosjwosjd

also, if you didn’t read the tags, please read them.

**TW: transphobia, misogyny, _internalized_ transphobia and misogyny, self harm, child abuse, mentions of drowning, implied (negative?) religious themes, barely referenced eating disorder**

also note: you are all valid and ilysm please drink some water and take care of yourselves. this is kind of like a reverse vent fic? idk. but please take care of yourselves. 

* * *

People said blood was thicker then water, 

“the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” 

It supposedly originated from the poet ,  Heinrich der Glîchezære. They remember, out of all the limited people in their life, a butler who once told them this. At the time they were around seven years old? They mentioned the poem, because why would they even dare attempt to pronounce the writers name, and they were asked how they knew. Well, in their little room, tucked away like a secretive box, and locked away with a key that seemed to have gotten thrown into a haystack, they liked to read. They had to teach themself how to, obviously- (nobody cared enough to teach them, not even big brother)-, but it was fun. They read all kinds of stuff, even books with big words far more larger then that of their vocabulary. The butler told Miss Kikyou, (they weren’t allowed to call her mom), and she burned all of their books. 

The flames wove into the pages like a brand, turning them to ash; a perfectly fine powdery substance. The same butler swept up the remains and trashed them. 

They remember miss kikyou telling them, “You are of Zoldyck blood but your no family member to me.” 

Now a year later, they couldn’t help to think, was the poet right? 

They could not tell.

They were never thought of as family to anyone (except for big brother), but they were still tortured with the ideology that they were still of the noble Zoldyck blood. It confused them. 

Blood is thicker then water. 

Age ten. 

Alluka found herself— or a part of herself. Not from the likes of any literature, but from her big brother. Killua. Big Brother Killua. He was like a gift from God. The bright, shining, white light of killua her big brother and his big words and his big smile, like the heavens dropped a crown on his head and alluka was worthy enough to see it for herself. He was beautifully crafted, and she was envious. He told her stories of the outside, and they talked, and she noticed things about herself. 

Born into the body of one that she wasnt. Killua told her stories of the perky, slim-figured, chubless, _female_ figurines in milluki’s room. she didn’t look like them, and she was jealous. 

When killua left that day, (possibly left for a long, _long_ , time), she found herself back where her inner search started. The books. Miss kikyou couldn’t burn these ones up, _it_ made them for her. Miss kikyou was scared of _it_ , alluka had concluded many months back. 

She was stuck to the pages like glue, her eyes drying up and stinging with how long she tore through all the books she could find. For many days straight she blazed through all the books her hands could grab, and quickly having _it_ get rid of them so miss kikyou or father wouldn’t find them and get angry. She wasn’t careful enough tho. 

If blood was thicker then water, 

why was the cool liquid choking her? If blood was thicker, why was the water so heavy? If blood was thicker, why was the water rattling in her lungs like boulders thundering down a tunnel? Miss Kikyou was very upset. She screamed and wailed and the water didn’t stop and alluka was quickly loosing color around her upper half. Angelic, beautifully crafted, killua. And she was nothing like him. Heavenly, perfect, disciplined zoldycks that she shared the same blood of, but she was so different. 

But miss kikyou didn’t deter her. She still read. She read until the words blurred and the light of the world would dim. And she figured out stuff. People wouldn’t think of her as a real girl unless she was slim, with her ribs poking out and a full chest, people wouldn’t consider _her_ pretty. Since blood was apparently thicker, she couldn’t have that. The water would have to do. She wanted to be a real girl. 

She questioned again, was the poet wrong?

If blood was thicker then water, then why- to be a real girl-, did the _nonexistent_ gash between her legs not bleed? Was she not a real girl because of it? She couldn’t do anything about that. _It_ tried to tell her things, tried to tell her that she _is_ a real girl, but she refused to listen. 

Blood was not thicker then water, she decided. 

And the poet was wrong. 

She didn’t need the stupid poet and his stupid words and his stupid, divine, false hope.

Now at age 12, she decided that the blood and the water and the whatevernot can go fuck themselves over. She decided that the poet can go ahead and turn over in his disgusting, foreboding grave. She decided she’d write her own damn poetry,

but on her rough, _non-girl-like_ , skin. 

And it— _Nanika_ — could only weep silently. 

And the blood and the water rushed through her ears as one and she found herself aching terribly, an seeming unsatisfiable ache. 

Until killua, 

with his damned heavenly light and saint-like embrace found the hay-covered key and kicked open the gates of hell just for _her_.

**Author's Note:**

> not proofread


End file.
